Of Demons and Angels
by SarcasticFangirlFromDownBelow
Summary: This is a character study of Moriarty and Sherlock. Sort of. This is Sheriarty because we need more fics for this pairing ; ) Rated T because I'm paranoid.


**A/N: Hi Nyx here! I have begun watching Sherlock a while back and fell in love with the TV show and its characters (mainly Jim Moriarty). I quickly developed a huge liking for the pairing Sheriarty (Sherlock/Moriarty) to the point where it has become my second OTP. This is my first fic for their pairing so please be gentle. As always though, constructive criticism is welcome.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock or any of its characters in any way, shape or from all rights go to BBC.**

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 _Some say the world will end in fire  
Some say in ice  
From what I've tasted of desire  
I hold with those who favor fire  
But if it had to perish twice  
I think I know enough of hate  
To say that for destruction  
Ice is also great  
And would suffice_

\- _By Robert Frost_

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No one knows how it really happened.

One moment they were exchanging insults and thinly-veiled threats and the next they were kissing. Bodies pressed firmly against each other, hands wandering and groping, moans and groans mixing together, as if composing a melody, and tongues battling fiercely for dominance.

One was fire, deadly, cunning, vicious and as smoldering hot as the very fires of hell, in which he was – and had always – been destined to burn in. A constant flame that could never – _would never_ – be put out, all dark, predatory looks and even darker intentions. He was an uncontrollable wildfire, his scorching touch burning, murdering and laying waste to anything and everything that he touched, destroying whole kingdoms and bringing empires to their knees heartlessly if he desired.

The other was ice. Dangerous, cruel and wild, with a heart that was frozen completely to the very core. He was the barren wasteland that would slowly ice your body over, the evidence forever preserved for any to see but that no one would ever discover. He was the savage northern wind that stole your breath away, the pale, icy fingers that squeezed the oxygen from your lungs. He was the barbed, freezing shards that flew through the air like chilling missiles, burying themselves in the hearts of many and stilling their beating forever.

They were the complete opposite of each other yet they were the exact same person.

Jim Moriarty and Sherlock Holmes, the consulting criminal and the consulting detective, the psychopath and the sociopath, the demon and the angel, the villain and the hero. Two parts of the yin and yang, red and blue, black and white; the other part of each other. They were jagged, broken pieces yet they fit one another perfectly. Both stared at the other with the same dull, empty, unblinking eyes full of monsters, shadows, pain and nightmares. Their gazes were both as cold and hard as a frozen rock yet as burning, fiery and passionate as the lava of a volcano.

Neither dared, or wanted, to move, so they didn't. They just sat, drinking tea, in perfect symmetry: the exact and perfect mirror image of one another, both knowing what they shared was forbidden and fatal but neither caring in the least about the consequences. After all they had nothing left to lose, they never had, not really. They were the only ones that could match each other, the only ones that truly understood one another, they were their each other's only real comfort when the world rejected and shunned them again, when all the pain and rage became too much to bear.

So they continued to play this game, a game that would never end, for neither of them would win because winning would mean losing their other half and they both they couldn't live without the other. They were each other's pain and medicine, dream and nightmare, together they were the epitome of chaos and only they could calm the other's storm. Both were tangled up hopelessly in each other's webs full of dark secrets, broken promises and too many out-of-control emotions.

They had nothing left, nothing except for each other. But that was enough. They were two broken men that the world had wronged for too long and finally – _finally –_ they had snapped.

And as the world burnt and froze over the two former enemies watched silently from afar, because they didn't need words, their gazes held much more expression than words ever could. So they stood, still in perfect symmetry: one the exact mirror image of the other. And nothing separated them, no cracks, no walls, no boundaries. It was just them and their linked hands, both forever lost in each other's game of fire and ice.

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 **A/N: If convenient review, if inconvenient then review anyway! ; )**


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